First day of fall. Finally swathed in yarn. Hiding neck wrinkles. That’s got to be good. We are facing big changes. The kind of change you can’t take in. You can’t look at the whole thing, except from outer space with Tom Hanks, moving your thumb back and forth to block out the blue marble in the Apollo window. The kind of change that compels you to operate on a one-step-at-a-time basis. Don’t look at the whole picture, all the waves going out and coming back to overwhelm you. Just do the next thing. Breathing.

I’ve started reading Ducks, Newburyport because you have to. But it’s got me on the rails. One sentence? Come on! How many pages is that book? Does anybody know?

I’ve been editing typos. SO many typos. And infelicities. And repetitions. I have an over fondness for words like shelter and terrible and mystery. Relinquish, stupid, and, disaster also reoccur. I’m fixing everything!

I’m reading the collected short stories of Amy Hempel. Also Lydia Davis. What are you reading?

Arboretum Larix sibirica.jpg
It’s the Tonnara di Scopello on a windy day in Sicily.

It’s the Tonnara di Scopello on a windy day in Sicily.